Five quick taps on the controller, and his female avatar brought a thug down—lifeless. Left hook, right hook, left jab, right uppercut, then a final kick to the head. The assault was brutal, each move flowing smoothly with every button press. He felt each punch and impact, the vibrations from the controller running through his fingertips. It was a rush, a surprising thrill he never expected. The sounds of fighting—grunts, punches landing—made it all the more satisfying. Real.
“Wow, the combat is really impressive,” he murmured to his stream. “Th-the, uh, tactile feedback... it makes it feel like I’m actually punching someone!”
He rotated the camera with a few swivels of the joystick and realised that all the mobs were dead, their corpses lying scattered across the floor. Blood was everywhere: splattered across the walls, the floors, his character's body. It was a bloodbath.
A smile spread across his face. This.. this was pretty cool!
Satisfied with having defeated all the enemies—almost a Level Up!—he turned to the person he'd saved: an older-looking, dark-skinned, voluptuous woman. The young man expected some kind of dialogue box, some prompt to claim his Quest reward. Instead, the older woman edged away, her eyes wide and wary. She kept her distance, taking cautious steps back from his character.
When he controlled his avatar forward, the older woman screamed before frantically running from him.
“Wh-What?”
Confused, he turned to his stream's chat, which had exploded in the last few seconds.
> Miss Sugar: lolol
>
> Sinner6969: lol lol lol lol
>
> FemBoisRTruLuv: lol
>
> DancingStar: lol you scared her
“That's so unfair,” the young man whined, “W-what even triggered that? I just helped her...”
> Miss Sugar: NPCs are dumb
>
> Sassassin: lmao
Wanting to fidget while he interacted with the chat, he had his avatar crouch and stand on the spot, rotating its body this way and that.
> Hedgehoax: you just beat the shit out of a bunch of dudes. course she's scared of u
A pout formed on his lips, and he wrinkled his nose in annoyance.
“Ugh, next time I won't save her,” he grumbled, “I'll just leave her for the thugs.”
> Octopuppy: why hvn't you picked a skill or talent yet?
He frowned, a little embarrassed. “Uh, well, I-I've kind of, err, been forgetting about it,” he admitted, his tone sheepish. A nervous chuckle slipped out. “Just trying to learn controls and stuff…”
Opening up his character menu, he flicked through the options—a satisfying little sound accompanying each flick—and made his way to the Skills tab.
“Wow!” he breathed, eyes wide. More and more pages seemed to be added to the Skills tab as he flicked through, making him a little dizzy. “H-how many are there?”
There were so many. So, so many. Countless Thousands, it seemed. Easily more. More than he could readily comprehend.
“What do you think, chat?” he asked, turning back to his stream. “How do I even decide?”
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< HELPFUL TIPS! >
Skills and Talents are essential for mastering your character. Highlight your strengths and embrace your abilities!
Each Level grants you ONE Skill Point to allocate to any Skill of your choice. With thousands of options ranging from combat prowess to crafting finesse and survival instincts, choose wisely and plan strategically!
Talents become available starting at Level 1, and subsequently every fifth Level. These specialised abilities offer significant advantages in combat and other challenges. Make thoughtful selections to maximise your character’s potential!
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╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
CHAPTER TWO
Jake Harris
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
Officer Jake Harris leaned against the cool metal of his patrol car, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt of his favourite diner's parking lot. His fingers struggled with a lighter, its metal clinking sharply as he tried to coax a flame from it. After several attempts, a spark caught, and the cigarette clenched between his lips flared to life with a soft hiss. He drew a deep drag, watching the smoke curl upwards into the air, mingling with the distant hum of the city.
As the chill of the night began to settle in, nipping at his cheeks, he caught a faint whiff of gasoline drifting from a nearby service station. The sharp tang of fuel, mingled with the acrid scent of cigarette smoke, caused his nose to twitch. He could almost taste the lingering grease from the fried chicken joint on his tongue.
The distant roar of a motorcycle echoed through the streets, accompanied by the rumble of passing cars. Jake exhaled slowly, the white smoke dissipating into the oncoming sunset as he scanned the quiet surroundings. A group of teenagers sauntered past, their laughter echoing faintly against the brick walls of the diner. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, noticing a white teen holding hands with a black girl.
Race traitor, he thought, scowling at them.
Jake took another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brighter for a moment before settling into a steady burn. He tried to commit the girl's face to memory—the boy's too actually. Maybe he'd mention them at the next Empire meeting, see if he could get a few people to give the two a proper education on the importance of racial purity.
A gust of wind swept through the lot, stirring up scraps of paper and sending a plastic bag tumbling along the ground. When the wind settled, he flicked the ash from his cigarette and drew another lungful, the smoke curling around his face.
He turned, eyeing the diner through a cloud of cigarette fumes.
Its weathered facade stood stark against the fading sky, a testament to years of neglect. The building's worn red paint peeled away, and the windows were plastered with a dozen or more posters advertising random items. Above the entrance, a crooked neon sign blinked on and off, casting a feeble glow on the cracked pavement below.
Inhale—
Through a gap in the window, Jake spotted the fat, balding figure of his partner standing by a wall of photos. He clicked his teeth together in annoyance.
—Exhale.
Still waiting? Shit, what was taking so long?
A flick of the wrist and more ash fell to the ground.
Inhale, exhale, repeat.
Another minute passed.
Inhale, exhale—
His stomach rumbled, reminding him of how long it had been since his last meal. Most of the afternoon had been spent chasing leads and interviewing witnesses about a new regenerating Cape in the Bay—a ‘silver-haired beauty’, as they called her. Deranged too, apparently. He didn’t doubt the reports; jumping off a building to die in front of dozens of people, power or no power, was a pretty clear indicator of being batshit crazy.
Not that anyone was certain the woman was even still alive; all that was clear was her body disappeared ‘like ashes’, and she hadn't been seen since. For all he knew, she was dead and not coming back, making the whole thing a waste of time.
Of course, the PRT and Protectorate barged into the investigation, claiming jurisdiction over any Parahuman incidents.
Jake hawked a thick wad of spit on the ground, scowling. Fucking stuck up pricks. As if they did anything to really protect the Bay. They could muscle in all they wanted, but the BBPD wasn't about to hand over information.
Let the cops do all the hard work, while they reaped the rewards—that’s how the world worked, right?
Well, not this time.
A familiar buzz interrupted his thoughts.
Jake dug his phone from his pocket—the spare he kept hidden from his wife. Swiping his thumb across the screen, he read the message, and his lip curled into a sneer. An Empire grunt wanted information on the new Cape? So they’d finally heard. Fat chance he’d share anything with some random shitheel though. This intel was going straight to the top, where he’d get the appreciation he deserved. More money. Better benefits. The good life.
Asshole thinks he can steal credit from me? Fuck that.
With a final drag from his cigarette, he dropped the butt to the ground, and stubbed it out with a twist of his boot. The last few tendrils of smoke drifted upwards, and the smell of burning nicotine hung heavily in the air.
He quickly tapped out a reply: “Got it. Will update the big bosses tonight myself.”
Satisfied, he stuffed the phone back in his pocket, then glanced around the parking lot once more. A beat-up red sedan rattled into view, its engine coughing before it wheezed to a halt. An attractive blonde woman climbed out of the driver's seat, her face showing clear signs of exhaustion. Her hair was slightly out of place, blazer wrinkled, and heels clicking on the asphalt. Still damn hot, though.
She caught him looking, and he tipped his hat.
“Afternoon, officer,” she greeted him with a slight smile and a hint of a blush.
“Ma'am,” he replied, his tone gruff but polite.
She strode into the diner, her hips swaying slightly with each step. Jake's eyes lingered for a moment before returning to the road.
In the distance, something caught his eye: a girl, running and hopping along the middle of the street with an odd, bounding gait. Her steps were light, almost floating, and Jake swore he saw a baseball bat in her hands, swinging as she ran. A second later, it vanished, and she seemed to be carrying nothing at all.
Where did she suddenly come from?
He paused, squinting. Small, pale skin, silvery-white hair—was that the new Cape? Looked like she survived the fall after all. But what were those stains on her? Dark splatters, maybe a reddish tint. He narrowed his eyes and peered harder. Blood? Or just grime?
The girl wasn't fast, but she didn't seem to care, either. It was as if she had all the time in the world, and no particular place to go. She wore what earlier witnesses had described: a chest wrap, panties, and no mask. Her scant clothing left little to the imagination, but the girl showed no signs of being bothered by her attire. At least, from what Jake could tell, anyway.
Suddenly, she veered towards a trash can.
Her hands plunged into the container, rummaging through its contents and Jake's brow furrowed. His fingers twitched towards his police radio, but he stopped, dumbfounded.
Was she actually going through the garbage?
A few seconds passed. The girl pulled something —he couldn't quite make it out—from the trash and, a moment later it was gone, just like the baseball bat. He blinked, trying to process what he'd seen. He wasn't hallucinating. That actually happened. Then, she was back to delving into the trash can again, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Jake shook himself from his stupor, his fingers finally curling around the radio clipped to his shoulder. The static crackled as he unlatched it, pressed a button, and held the receiver to his mouth.
“Dispatch, this is Unit 107,” he began, his voice low and steady. “I've got a visual on the missing Parahuman suspect at my location. Silver hair, Caucasian, small build, wearing minimal clothing. Currently at the corner of Westbrook and Fifth. Suspect is... rummaging through a trash can. No immediate threat observed, but she’s acting strange. Over.”
He released the button, listening to the familiar hiss of white noise as he kept his eyes on the girl.
“Copy that, Unit 107. The PRT and Protectorate will be informed. Maintain visual contact. Over.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
So much for trying to outshine the PRT. He exhaled sharply, a hiss of air escaping through gritted teeth. The bitter taste of disappointment curled in his mouth. He could almost see the headlines—PRT praised for swift action, while he and the rest of the BBPD remained a footnote, a shadow in the margin. The injustice of it stung, and all he could do was swallow the protest, the anger.
“Affirmative,” he grunted into the radio. “Over and out.”
Just as he moved to secure the radio back to its clip, the girl straightened up and started moving towards the diner, heading straight for him. Jake frowned. How should he approach this?
A smirk played at the corners of his lips.
What if he could flip the script, steer her towards the Empire?
It'd be a satisfying ‘fuck you’ to the PRT and Protectorate. And who knew? Maybe there'd be a handsome bonus in it for him too. He just had to figure out how to do it subtly; he'd like not to risk his career in the police force, after all.
“Suspect is on the move. Appears to be heading towards my location. Requesting backup, over,” he said into the radio. He secured the device back to his vest and adjusted his cap.
“Understood, Unit 107. A hero from the Protectorate is en route. ETA: ten minutes.”
Ten minutes? His eyebrows furrowed, hopefully the girl would be somewhat reasonable then. Last thing he needed was to deal with some psychopath, especially one with powers.
“Ten-fou—” he responded into his shoulder, before his voice caught in his throat. The girl disappeared mid-step and he froze, stunned. “Shit, lost sight of the suspect!”
“Unit 107, report,” came the urgent response, but he struggled to focus.
Where had she gone? His eyes darted left and right, scanning for any hint of movement. There was nothing. He glanced back to where she had been, finding only empty space.
“She just fucking disappeared! One moment, she was there, the next—”
Jake choked down a curse as she reappeared just a few steps in front of him, easily covering over a hundred metres in a few seconds. A deep unease settled in the pit of his stomach. The stench hit him next—a nauseating mix of sour, fermented rot and the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood. His insides lurched, the urge to gag rising, but he fought to hold it down. She stood there, staring at him, eyes unblinking, face expressionless.
What the fuck.
Now that the girl was closer, he could see her clearly. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and stood on end. A smear of blood covered her left cheek, and her lips were smudged with dirt. Splatters of blood coated her bare arms, stomach and legs, though the red-black liquid looked to be old and partially dried. Even her hair had a dark red stain, and lumpy clumps clung together, matting the strands.
What.
The.
Fuck.
She looked feral, and Jake wasn't naive enough to believe it was all her own blood—if any even belonged to her at all.
Don't panic, don't panic, he repeated inwardly. Jake felt trapped beneath her gaze, small and insignificant. Think! You're a fucking cop!
His eyes searched her for weapons and found none. But he'd seen her do that disappearing trick twice now. Who knew what else she was capable of? He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the taste of bile that had risen in the back of his throat.
“Unit 107?” the radio chirped. “Do you copy? Repeat: Do you copy?”
Jake's mouth worked open and closed, but no words came. “Afternoon, Miss,” he finally managed, a slight crack in his voice. He ignored the insistent calls from the radio, his focus fixed on the girl before him.
The girl was beautiful, unnaturally so, with pale skin, high cheekbones, and large, almond-shaped blue eyes. Save for her hair, she was a near-perfect poster girl for Aryan ideals—the type his grandfather had rambled about with fervour whenever he was drunk. He could see why the Empire would take an interest. But, at the same time, she also seemed almost alien, like a doll come to life, with no emotion in her expression, or even her movements.
Her face resembled a porcelain mask, marred by streaks of blood that only heightened the unease churning in his gut. Fuck, she could even pass for someone straight out of the Slaughterhouse 9! That thought alone sent an unpleasant shudder down his spine. Even if she was a foot or so shorter than him, there was something about her—an unnatural sense of wrongness that screamed danger.
You're a cop! Get a grip, for Scion's sake!
But Jake couldn't help it. All of his instincts were on edge, and the tension thrummed through him, coiling tight like a spring.
Breathe, just breathe. He forced himself to take a deep breath, inhaling deeply and then exhaling slowly, just like he had been taught years ago. The smell hit him again, and he gagged.
She stared at him, head tilted to the side, her gaze unnervingly calm. “Hello,” she said. Her voice was light, soft even, and he couldn't pin an accent to it. Yet at the same time, there was no inflection to her words, no sign of emotion, just a flat, neutral tone. “I'm new here. Where do you think is a good place to go?”
“Uh,” he stuttered, blinking. The petite woman started randomly jumping up and down, her feet hitting the ground in a flurry of small thuds. Her face remained completely impassive and emotionless as she did so, and he all but confirmed that the girl really was mentally unstable. Especially as she moved side to side, before simply crouching a few steps from him.
Under different circumstances, it might have seemed comical, but with her cold, piercing stare fixed on him, Jake found nothing amusing. Instead, a slow, crippling dread twisted his stomach into knots. The thought of reaching for his service pistol crossed his mind more than once, a desperate bid for reassurance. Yet, a voice in his head warned against it—a little whisper that the second he made that move, he'd be a dead man.
Was it instinct? Or had she telegraphed something, and he'd missed it, too slow to catch up? He didn't know, and that made him even more nervous.
“T-the PRT...” Jake stammered, any thoughts of glory now abandoned. For once, his pride took a back seat, and he was ready to let the PRT or the Protectorate handle her, uncaring if they got the credit. He just wanted her gone—out of sight, out of mind, and far away from him. “...you should go there. They probably know best, and I'm sure th-they'll help you out, or whatever. S-someone from the P-PRT, I mean, the Protectorate is coming soon too, so you could talk to them.”
The girl tilted her head the other way, her face remaining impassive. “PRT? Protectorate? What's that?”
Jake blinked, thrown off by her question. How could someone not know about the PRT or the Protectorate?
“The PRT and Protectorate? It's... uh... it's a group that helps, um, people like you,” he trailed off awkwardly. “People with powers.”
Silence thickened the air, unsettling in its weight, as Jake waited for her response. The girl merely stared at him and he shifted in discomfort. Why wasn't she talking? What was she thinking? Was she going to do anything?
Just as he began to think she wouldn't reply, he watched with disbelief as the deranged Cape rose to her feet and leapt onto his patrol car. Her bare feet lightly bounced on the hood, leaving bloody footprints on its polished surface before she hopped onto the roof. Jake winced inwardly but kept his expression neutral. “W-what are you doing?”
Again, the girl didn't respond, seemingly content with bouncing atop the police cruiser as he backed away. She was crazy, completely and utterly insane. And he was alone with her. Cold sweat trickled down his neck, and his heart hammered against his ribcage.
His radio crackled, startling him.
“Unit 107, what's going on over there?” the radio droned for the umpteenth time. “Repeat, Unit 107, do you copy? Unit 107, report your status!”
“T-the suspect has made contact,” he stuttered, eyes never leaving the girl. His free hand twitched, moving towards his pistol as he frantically looked towards the diner, hoping to signal his partner. The cool metal pressing against his palm felt good, calming, and he drew comfort from it. “Suspect is displaying erratic behaviour. Possible mental issues, but I-I repeat, no visible hostilities observed. Over.”
“Copy that, Unit 107. Backup should arrive within a few minutes—Velocity was called for priority assistance. Keep her talking and stall for time until he can intercept. Sit tight.”
Had Dispatch heard the nerves in his voice? The spine-chilling fear that left him strained and on the verge of panic?
Jake's grip tightened around the pistol grip as the girl leapt off the car, landing lightly in front of him, her expression still eerily neutral. His breath caught in his throat as he took a cautious step back, his right foot shifting, left hand poised to draw.
She stared, and he swallowed nervously. The steady thump, thump, thump of his heart pounded in his ears, his breath quickening with each passing second.
“I-is there something else you need?” he managed, the tremor in his voice barely perceptible. At least, he hoped it wasn't.
A slight tilt of her head. Then more silence. It was almost as if she was waiting for something. But what?
The eerie stillness between them persisted, the seconds stretching into an uncomfortable eternity. Then, she began spinning in place, faster and faster, until she was a blur. It was like looking at a human-sized top, silvery-white hair trailing behind her like the tail of a comet.
His jaw dropped, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing.
What.
The.
Actual.
Fuck.
What was this crazy bitch playing at?
Jake couldn't stand it anymore.
His grip loosened, then tightened on his gun.
“Listen, lady! Stop messing around, and state your business, or I'll—”
“Give me your gun,” the girl demanded, suddenly halting her spin with a grace and precision that he would bet his life savings only the best ballet dancer could achieve.
His mind blanked, struggling to process her request. Had he misheard?
“Wha-what?”
“I want your gun. And your car too.”
Jake's face paled. What the hell was she saying?
He took another step back, slowly withdrawing his pistol but keeping the muzzle pointed at the ground.
“I can't do that, Miss, that's police property,” he responded, trying to keep his tone light and easygoing, despite the growing tension. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. “Why don't we just stay calm and talk about this, yeah?
The girl stared.
“Look, uh... Miss,” he replied, his jaw set, his stance wary. “I don't know what you're thinking, but someone from the Protectorate is already on their way. They're the ones who'll be able to help you, okay? Just wait a little longer.”
She cocked her head to the side, her hair falling across her face. “Help me with what?”
He forced a smile, but again , the girl simply stared at him.
“Miss..?” he tried again, his smile faltering.
Jake didn't know what changed, but everything suddenly went wrong.
One moment, the girl was simply standing there, her gaze blank and her body perfectly still. The next, she was a blur of motion, and a bloodied baseball bat was suddenly in her hands. It whistled through the air, heading straight for his head, and he barely managed to raise an arm in time.
A sharp, splintering crack resounded. Searing pain exploded through his limb as the bat made contact, his bones likely breaking under the force. Jake screamed, tears springing into his eyes as he instinctively clutched his injured arm with his free hand, dropping the pistol in his rush. It clattered uselessly to the ground, joined by the splintered remains of the wooden bat which had snapped under the force of the blow.
The girl didn't let up.
She stepped forward, throwing a punch that he barely managed to deflect with his raised arms. More pain shot through his muscles as her fist connected with his forearm. “Wait, stop!” he pleaded, desperately raising his arms in an effort to fend off the unrelenting assault. “W-why are you doing this?”
Her next strike landed squarely on his jaw, the impact sending shockwaves through his skull. He tasted blood, the metallic tang filling his mouth as he staggered backward, his vision blurring at the edges.
Desperation fueled him and he lunged forward, aiming to tackle her to the ground. But she danced aside effortlessly, her bare foot catching him squarely in the face.
His head snapped back with a sickening crunch, his nose crushed and blood pouring freely down his face. The world spun, his uniform turning crimson as he stumbled and collapsed to his knees. He struggled to push himself back up, only to feel something cold and metallic press against the back of his head.
Time slowed to a crawl, the world narrowing down to that single moment. The pain and panic disappeared, replaced by a single thought: he was going to die.
“P-please don't,” he begged, his voice thick and muffled by the blood and snot, and the tears of fear and pain streaking down his face. “Please. I-I have a wife. Kids. A daughter. P-please, don't kill me,” he tried again, his shoulders shaking.
In the distance, he heard chaos—a mix of scrambling and screams. His partner, the diner patrons.
There was a quiet, ominous click.
More screams, more scrambling. There were words, too, but he couldn't make them out.
His heart skipped a beat, the frantic drumbeat coming to a standstill. His lungs seized, his chest constricting painfully, and the air in his throat turned to lead.
“Don't,” Jake breathed, his lips parting in a silent prayer. “Plea—”
A single, deafening bang shattered the stillness.
And then, there was nothing.
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< HELPFUL TIPS! >
When your Health drops to zero, you will die. Beware: dying causes you to drop all equipped and inventory items. Additionally, if you’re above Level 1, you will also lose a Level and all associated Level Up bonuses.
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“Awh, look what you made me do, chat,” he complained, glancing at his other screen with a playful pout. “You just made me kill a man begging for his life! Uhm, Is there Karma in this game? Because if so, uh, I think I am in trouble, guys.”
> FemBoisRTruLuv: u got his gun now though lol
>
> Sassassin: kill all the others now too, free xp
>
> Hedgehoax: noo don't kill meee i have a wife and childreann~~
>
> ChunkyCheese: lololol they really worked hard on voice acting for this game, its great
Controlling his player character, the young man's eyes darted around the screen, taking in the other NPCs in the area. Most of them were unarmed and posed no threat, but there was a fat police officer wielding a pistol and firing at him. He activated the Shukuchi Skill to dodge, turning invisible and phasing through any bullets aimed his way.
“S-should I take out these mobs? I-I could probably Level Up if I do.”
> NyaBot: do it!!
>
> Miss Sugar: xpxpxpxpxxpxpxp
>
> Sinner6969: free xp, kill kill kiiiiiilllll
“O-Okay, I guess. Uhm, sorry about this, Mr. Police Officer!”
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◢✥◣
CHARACTER UPGRADES LOG
◥✥◤
NEW TALENTS!
✦ INNER FOCUS ✦
You are deeply attuned to the rhythms of your being, honing your concentration and enhancing your mental acuity to tap into the inner reservoirs of your mental strength. With a serene and disciplined approach, you automatically regenerate Focus Points (FP) at a slow rate whenever you are outside of combat.
NEW SKILLS!
✦ SHUKUCHI ✦
RANK: 1
TYPE: Active
RANGE: Self
FP COST: 30
DURATION: 5 seconds
COOLDOWN: 15 seconds
EFFECT: Tap into fabrics of creation to temporarily shift out of visibility, gaining 1000% bonus movement speed and a minor form of intangibility. Passing through living beings inflicts 10 damage. Attacking immediately cancels this Skill.
[LEVEL]: 1 → 2
[SKILL POINTS]: 0 → 1
ATTRIBUTE SCORES
[CON]: 10
[STR]: 10
[DEX]: 10
[INT]: 10
[WIS]: 10
[CHA]: 10 → 11